Probability and Perfection

Giving Thanks for Broken Bread Thunder crumbles, stale bread through worn hands. He breaks
Giving Thanks
for Broken Bread

Thunder crumbles, stale bread
through worn hands. He breaks
the cloud to succumb—to become
unhazed—and sifts sky:
pick pocketing
leaking light
speckling. Us, painted
shelled like a sparrow,
prone to cracks. Snaspshot

this peace between
Perfection and Probability
—For our chance of rain
was weighting the world.

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